Seen Through the Eyes of Another
by darksupernatural
Summary: Character study of sorts. Someone is watching Sam and Dean. Written to celebrate one year of posting. One shot. Complete. Slightly different. Please read and review!


**A/N: So I wanted something completely different than anything I'd done to celebrate my one year anniversary of posting here on the site . This is what I've come up with. I'm hoping you all enjoy and I want to say THANK YOU to everyone who's ever read, reviewed or both. I've "met" so many people through this awesome site, made friends, read amazing stories and gotten amazing reviews for my own. It's been a rockin' year for me and I have you all to thank for that. I'm looking forward to sharing many more stories and talking to each of my reviewers again.**

**Special thanks here to Blue Peanut and Sammygirl1963. Without you two I would not still be around, let alone posting my 42nd fic here. You are both true friends who are very valued. Love ya girls. Enjoy this one. Oh and Gill, Thanks for the title girl. Love it. And I'm honored that you decided to give it such a perfect name.**

**This one will be set S3 say after Fresh Blood. Someone comes to watch the boys work (hoping it comes as a surprise). It is AU, presuming they have another run in with Vampires trying to create a family.**

**Seen Through the Eyes of Another**

He moves like a well oiled machine, a precision tuned engine. A soldier. He's honing a knife, his left hand holding the well used whetstone, his right sliding the blade over the gritty surface. It has an edge that could split a hair, he knows that already. He needs something to do with his calloused, work roughened hands. Work hardened hands blend into arms that ripple with muscle under a tan and a fine smattering of golden brown hair, connecting to shoulders that hunch just slightly under the weight of the world. Those shoulders will never break though. Never bow far enough to never straighten, stiffen and carry on.

His eyes shift in the light. Glancing at the blade of the knife as he brings it up, the dim lighting reflects in the green; making it brighten, look almost feral. The knife lowers and the eyes darken, lifting to look at his silent companion. They change again, going from stoic and cold to warm, looking like that little boy beneath the soldier. His eyes change again as his companion looks up.

"I got it." The eyes glint with determination, a smirk making them dance.

"Let's go kill the sucker."

--

Child like wavy locks frame a mature, angular face. A strong jaw and high cheekbones show a determination, a hard headedness and strength of will as unbreakable as tempered steel. His eyes, hazel and warm when looking at someone he loves, contain just a hint of darkness as they rove over the blue screen before him, soaking up more information to save a life even as fingers fly over the keyboard in front of him. He never smiles while he's doing research, so methodical in his studies that he can often repeat word for word his findings. His fingers still and his eyes stop before they shift to meet the green of the other's.

"I got it." The hazel that's met the green changes just a bit as the hidden darkness comes a little closer to the surface, flaring as the words 'Let's go kill the sucker' wash over him.

--

He's perfectly at ease controlling the heavy metal beast as the rumble thrums through his blood. His hands are relaxed on the wheel; his eyes though constantly shift showing a lighter, more carefree green. His baby, as he calls her, has been his only true home for as long as he can remember. The stereo blasts in the interior, his heart matching the heavy beat, thump for thump, gearing up for the soldier to see combat. He pulls the car, his home, the same extension of himself, as important as any knife or gun, to a stop when he hears 'This is it.'

--

His home is metal and leather, sun warmed glass and chrome, blaring music and the wind in his hair. He drums long fingers that had touched keys with the skill of a master hacker, a role player, on the knee of his old, torn jeans before curling them into fists. His heart is beating; breathing is deep, anticipation building with the crescendo of the music. His eyes take in his surroundings through the windshield. His muscles ripple, shoulders square, as he looks upon his hunting ground. "This is it." He says, that darkness gaining ground in a bed of hazel like an invasive weed in a bed of roses.

--

The trunk holds both a curse and a blessing, knowledge of using every piece of the arsenal saving more lives than he can count. Nameless faces flash through his mind as he looks over the cache. Glimpses of shining steel, dark in the night iron and finally… he lays his eyes on the weapon of choice for the hunt tonight, a shining machete. He looks at his friend, his brother, who nods his assent and reaches into the trunk for his own blade. He returns the solemn nod, his green eyes turning steely, his game face firmly in place, as the lid lowers and closes with a barely audible click. He leads the way, like an alpha male going after prey, his golden brown hair shining softly in the moonlight. Once inside the old barn he comes quietly up behind his prey. An evil creature stealing children with the misguided justification of having a "family." He's heard the excuse before. The sharp, glinting steel flashes in the light from a solitary window. A gasp is heard just seconds before two dull thuds. "Get them outta here Sammy!" Another slashing sound is heard and another body drops, the head rolling away. "NOW!" The sound of metal through bone chases him into the yard with his treasure held tightly to his chest.

--

The darkness in his eyes takes delight in the wicked gleam of the machete in his brother's hand. He hears the cries of caged children and the slashing sound as he follows the blade with his eyes. His brother's words come to him as if from a distance and he shakes himself as '…Sammy!' breaks through the barrier between his ears and his brain. 'NOW' gets his feet moving and he breaks the lock on the cage door. Three crying children ambush him to bury wet faces in his chest as he scoops the two youngest ones and runs. His brother grabs the other and holds tight as he follows, bloody machete back in it's sheath at his waist. Words come to him as he flees the old barn. _ Why didn't I fight?_ A little girl sniffles in his arms and whispers "thank you" in his ear, kissing his cheek. The invasive weed that is the darkness in his eyes withers in the bright light of a life saved.

--

Lives are saved and children grow up, aware of the things in the dark, but still thinking it was all a bad dream. He returns to the dingy motel room, douses his face with cold water and collapses wearily on his bed, all the while keeping his eyes on the hazel of his brother's. Thoughts of _why didn't he fight? _follow him into his dreams.

--

Darkness is driven off by the love of a child; lives saved let him remember why they do what they do, what's important in life. As he falls asleep he knows he's beaten it for another day, the darkness that threatens to consume him. He knows there will be a day when it wins, when he is lost, but he will fight as long as he can. Having his brother on his side, watching his back, is that much more strength he finds to fight with. Heavy lids blink over light, full of life hazel eyes, the darkness banished to a small speck, only visible to those who know him best. Blinking one last time, he sees his brother's sleeping face and he follows.

--

They're men now. They fight and they play, love and hate, live and die. Two faces rest for now; free of troubles and worries that will be there when they wake. They can't escape their life and don't try even though they know it will end badly. The lives they save, evil beaten back another step for another night, is worth it for them. Tomorrow it will happen all over again, a new hunt, a new rise to the darkness, a new scar.

"Rest easy my boys, my heroes. My soldier and my scholar, my life and my legacy. Take care of each other. Keep saving the world." Silent tears fall down a haggard face, one glistening drop following a scar over a cheekbone to disappear into a more salt than pepper beard. The man turns from the window, from the sight of his boys, _my boys_. Shoulders that refuse to bow beneath the weight of the world straighten and square again. Deft, long fingers drum on torn denim before curling into fists. Sure steps carry him from the room and into the dark to face the things that go bump in the night, doing what is seems he's always done.

**A/N: Now with hopefully an enjoyable little read over with, I wanted to let you know that while I'm not quitting -No, I won't give up writing, it's too much a part of who I am now- I am backing off. I am a beta (hopefully she'll still have me after this mention) for an incredibly talented authoress, who I'm not giving a name for at the moment. I'll be screaming from the roof tops when she decides to post. (You know who you are, my dear friend. Now get writing!) I have also decided to take longer with each fic and hopefully deliver longer, better stories for your enjoyment. I will not disappear for those who would miss me. I'll just be in the background. If I take too long to get something out, drop me a line, kick my arse to get me posting! Gotta say, I love everyone who's made me feel so welcome over the past year and I hope you'll still continue to read and review. Now guys and girls, click that beautiful little button and tell me what you think of my vision of our favorite guys.**


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